the common Roads, and ordinary Tracks of Poesie. They either are, or at least were meant to be, of that kind of Stile which Dion. Halicarnasseus calls, Meyaλopuès kaì ηdù μetà deivórηTOs, and which he attributes to Alcaus: The digressions are many, and sudden, and sometimes long, according to the fashion of all Lyriques, and of Pindar above all men living. The Figures are unusual and bold, even to Temeritie, and such as I durst not have to do withal in any other kind of Poetry: The Numbers are various and irregular, and sometimes (especially some of the long ones) seem harsh and uncouth, if the just measures and cadencies be not observed in the Pronunciation. So that almost all their Sweetness and Numerosity (which is to be found, if I mistake not, in the roughest, if rightly repeated) lies in a manner wholly at the Mercy of the Reader. I have briefly described the nature of these Verses, in the Ode entituled, The Resurrection: And though the Liberty of them may incline a man to believe them easie to be composed, yet the undertaker will find it otherwise.

...Ut sibi quivis

Speret idem, multum sudet frustráq, laboret

Ausus idem....

I come now to the last Part, which is Davideis, or an Heroical Poem of the Troubles of David; which I designed into Twelve Books; not for the Tribes sake, but after the Pattern of our Master Virgil; and intended to close all with that most Poetical and excellent Elegie of Davids on the death of Saul and Jonathan: For I had no mind to carry him quite on to his Anointing at Hebron, because it is the custom of Heroick Poets (as we see by the examples of Homer and Virgil, whom we should do ill to forsake to imitate others) never to come to the full end of their Story; but onely so near, that every one may see it; as men commonly play not out the game, when it is evident that they can win it, but lay down their Cards, and take up what they have won. This, I say, was the whole Design, in which there are many noble and fertile Arguments behind; as, The barbarous cruelty of Saul to the Priests at Nob, the several flights and escapes of David, with the manner of his living in the Wilderness, the Funeral of Samuel, the love of Abigal, the sacking of Ziglag, the loss and

recovery of Davids wives from the Amalekites, the Witch of Endor, the War with the Philistines, and the Battel of Gilboa ; all which I meant to interweave upon several occasions, with most of the illustrious Stories of the Old Testament, and to embellish with the most remarkable Antiquities of the Jews, and of other Nations before or at that Age. But I have had neither Leisure hitherto, nor have Appetite at present to finish the work, or so much as to revise that part which is done with that care which I resolved to bestow upon it, and which the Dignity of the Matter well deserves. For what worthier subject could have been chosen among all the Treasuries of past times, then the Life of this young Prince; who from so small beginnings, through such infinite troubles and oppositions, by such miraculous virtues and excellencies, and with such incomparable variety of wonderful actions and accidents, became the greatest Monarch that ever sat on the most famous Throne of the whole Earth? whom should a Poet more justly seek to honour, then the highest Person who ever honoured his Profession? whom a Christian Poet, rather then the man after Gods own heart, and the man who had that sacred pre-eminence above all other Princes, to be the best and mightiest of that Royal Race from whence Christ himself, according to the flesh disdained not to descend? When I consider this, and how many other bright and magnificent subjects of the like nature, the Holy Scripture affords and proffers, as it were, to Poesie, in the wise managing and illustrating whereof, the Glory of God Almighty might be joyned with the singular utility and noblest delight of Mankind; It is not without grief and indignation that I behold that Divine Science employing all her inexhaustible riches of Wit and Eloquence, either in the wicked and beggerly Flattery of great persons, or the unmanly Idolizing of Foolish Women, or the wretched affectation of scurril Laughter, or at best on the confused antiquated Dreams of senseless Fables and Metamorphoses. Amongst all holy and consecrated things which the Devil ever stole [and] alienated from the service of the Deity; as Altars, Temples, Sacrifices, Prayers, and the like; there is none that he so universally, and so long usurpt, as Poetry. It is time to recover it out of the Tyrants hands, and to restore it to the Kingdom of God, who is the Father of it. It is time to Baptize it in Jordan, for it will never become

clean by bathing in the Water of Damascus. There wants, methinks, but the Conversion of That, and the Jews, for the accomplishment of the Kingdom of Christ. And as men before their receiving of the Faith, do not without some carnal reluctancies, apprehend the bonds and fetters of it, but find it afterwards to be the truest and greatest Liberty: It will fare no otherwise with this Art, after the Regeneration of it; it will meet with wonderful variety of new, more beautiful, and more delightful Objects; neither will it want Room, by being confined to Heaven. There is not so great a Lye to be found in any Poet, as the vulgar conceit of men, that Lying is Essential to good Poetry. Were there never so wholesome Nourishment to be had (but alas, it breeds nothing but Diseases) out of these boasted Feasts of Love and Fables; yet, methinks, the unalterable continuance of the Diet should make us Nauseate it: For it is almost impossieble to serve up any new Dish of that kind. They are all but the Cold-meats of the Antients, new-heated, and new set forth. I do not at all wonder that the old Poets made some rich crops out of these grounds; the heart of the Soil was not then wrought out with continual Tillage: But what can we expect now, who come a Gleaning, not after the first Reapers, but after the very Beggars? Besides, though those mad stories of the Gods and Heroes, seem in themselves so ridiculous; yet they were then the whole Body (or rather Chaos) of the Theologie of those times. They were believed by all but a few Philosophers, and perhaps some Atheists, and served to good purpose among the vulgar, (as pitiful things as they are) in strengthening the authority of Law with the terrors of Conscience, and expectation of certain rewards, and unavoidable punishments. There was no other Religion, and therefore that was better then none at all. But to us who have no need of them, to us who deride their folly, and are wearied with their impertinencies, they ought to appear no better arguments for Verse, then those of their worthy Successors, the Knights Errant. What can we imagine more proper for the ornaments of Wit or Learning in the story of Deucalion, then in that of Noah? why will not the actions of Sampson afford as plentiful matter as the Labors of Hercules? why is not Jeptha's Daughter as good a woman as Iphigenia? and the friendship of David and Jonathan more worthy celebration, then that of Theseus and

Perithous? Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land, yield incomparably more Poetical variety, then the voyages of Ulysses or Eneas? Are the obsolete thread-bare tales of Thebes and Troy, half so stored with great, heroical and supernatural actions (since Verse will needs find or make such) as the wars of Joshua, of the Judges, of David, and divers others? Can all the Transformations of the Gods give such copious hints to flourish and expatiate on, as the true Miracles of Christ, or of his Prophets, and Apostles? what do I instance in these few particulars? All the Books of the Bible are either already most admirable, and exalted pieces of Poesie, or are the best Materials in the world for it. Yet, though they be in themselves so proper to be made use of for this purpose; None but a good Artist will know how to do it: neither must we think to cut and polish Diamonds with so little pains and skill as we do Marble. For if any man design to compose a Sacred Poem, by only turning a story of the Scripture, like Mr. Quarles's, or some other godly matter, like Mr. Heywood of Angels, into Rhyme; He is so far from elevating of Poesie, that he only abases Divinity. In brief, he who can write a prophane Poem well, may write a Divine one better; but he who can do that but ill, will do this much worse. The same fertility of Invention, the same wisdom of Disposition; the same Judgment in observance of Decencies; the same lustre and vigor of Elocution; the same modesty and majestie of Number; briefly the same kind of Habit, is required to both; only this latter allows better stuff, and therefore would look more deformedly, if ill drest in it. I am far from assuming to my self to have fulfilled the duty of this weighty undertaking: But sure I am, that there is nothing yet in our Language (nor perhaps in any) that is in any degree answerable to the Idea that I conceive of it. And I shall be ambitious of no other fruit from this weak and imperfect attempt of mine, but the opening of a way to the courage and industry of some other persons, who may be better able to perform it throughly and successfully.

Miscellanies.

W

THE

MOTTO.

Tentanda via est, &c.

Hat shall I do to be for ever known,
And make the Age to come my own?
I shall like Beasts or Common People dy,
Unless you write my Elegy;

Whilst others Great, by being Born are grown,
Their Mothers Labour, not their own.

In this Scale Gold, in th'other Fame does ly,
The weight of that, mounts this so high.
These men are Fortunes Jewels, moulded bright;
Brought forth with their own fire and light.

If I, her vulgar stone for either look;

Out of my self it must be strook.

Yet I must on; what sound is't strikes mine ear?
Sure I Fames Trumpet hear.

It sounds like the last Trumpet; for it can
Raise up the bur'ied Man.

Unpast Alpes stop me, but I'll cut through all,

And march, the Muses Hannibal.

Hence all the flattering vanities that lay
Nets of Roses in the way.

Hence the desire of Honors, or Estate;
And all, that is not above Fate.